


Assumptions

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, PTSD, post coitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: “You didn’t just wake me up at 2AM because you were ‘in the mood’?” Sirius Black asked from beside her where he’d dragged himself up the bed far enough to sit propped against the headboard while he lit a cigarette with the tip of his wand and inhaled the carcinogenic smoke hedinously.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 141





	Assumptions

Hermione panted tiredly, sprawled on the bed, her body thoroughly ravished. 

“That.... wasn’t why I came in here,” Hermione admitted breathlessly as her heart rate began to slow and the pleasant endorphins of her orgasm began to ebb.

“You didn’t just wake me up at 2AM because you were ‘in the mood’?” Sirius Black asked from beside her where he’d dragged himself up the bed far enough to sit propped against the headboard while he lit a cigarette with the tip of his wand and inhaled the carcinogenic smoke hedinously. 

“No,” Hermione admitted, though she couldn’t say she was complaining about the assumption.

“Oh,” Sirius said, and he frowned a little as though his ego was bruised at the idea that she had ulterior motives for invading his room beyond the simple pelasure of shagging him. 

Hermione laughed tiredly and wriggled into a sitting position, clutching the sheet to cover her bare chest while she fished on the ground for her shirt. When she’d found it and wriggled back into it, she turned back to her enthusiastic lover.

“I came to tell you that Harry’s been calling for you in his sleep. I think he’s having nightmares about the Department of Mysteries again,” she told him gently.

“Shit,” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

They both knew from years of sharing the house with Harry that the dreams of Sirius dying tended to prelude nastier dreams about torture and snakes and Voldemort. All the staples of Harry’s PTSD rearing it’s ugly head one more time.

“I’ll check on him,” Sirius said, stubbing out his smoke and reaching for the boxers he’d abandoned before bed. “You don’t have to leave, treasure. I’ll be back in a jiffy, I promise.”

Hermione smiled, watching him rise and hurry out of the room. He left the door ajar, and even from down the hall she could hear Harry calling for his godfather in his sleep. She knew Sirius wouldn’t be a jiffy. He’d be all night, she expected. But that was okay. She wasn’t particularly needy; especially not when she hadn’t come to him for a deliciously thorough shagging, anyway. Carding her fingers through her hair, Hermione ferreted her pyjamas bottoms from the mess upon Sirius’s bedroom floor and pulled them up before stretching langorously. She sighed and hummed appreciatively at the protest from freshly used muscles before heading back to her own room, infinitely more likely to get a good night’s rest thanks to Sirius and his welcome assumptions. 


End file.
